


Invisible Tears

by SilverRowan_Ivy630951



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, But No Actual Suicide, Captain America Steve Rogers, Crying, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Not nearly as awful as it sounds, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicide Notes, Talk of Suicide, Talking, Vomiting, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, but aren’t in the story long enough to rate tagging as characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRowan_Ivy630951/pseuds/SilverRowan_Ivy630951
Summary: Bucky came home six months ago but things aren't how Steve thought they would be. Their relationship is distant at best. Steve is lonely. He tries but Bucky won't let him in. Not until after a big misunderstanding.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 42
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Inspired by a screencap of @coldifyyy that read: **Do u ever sit back and realize you’re not anybody’s favorite person, you’re just kinda there and then you get the sudden urge to distance yourself from everyone and chill alone**
> 
> 2 I am extremely tired and didn't proofread this the bajillion times like I normally do before posting. Please let me know if you see any errors of any kind (i.e. grammar, continuity, awful writing, etc). Thanks. 
> 
> 3 Also, a little warning for those who need it. ~~I'm not going to put it in the tags,~~ but this deals with a big misunderstanding. Bucky thinks something he reads is a suicide note. It is _**not**_ one. Things turn out okay in the end but I wanted you to be warned.

**_Alone is something I’ve always been. Nearly all my life, I’ve just had me._ **

There were some days James didn’t feel like a person. There were days that he felt more ‘thing’ than actually human. But there were other days that he felt so utterly human, it was almost unbearable. Those were the days he hid away from everyone. He stayed in his room with the door tightly closed and locked.

When he wasn’t hiding away, James generally stayed quiet. He was never quite sure of his place in the Tower. Everyone was very nice to him. It was unsettling.

Natasha talked to him about fighting styles and moves and, oddly enough, about nature documentaries. Clint often spoke animatedly about his love of food and target practice. Tony and Bruce would go on about whatever science was on their mind at the time. And Thor, for some reason, adored video games.

James wasn’t proud of it, but he usually avoided Steve. He knew that Steve wanted Bucky Barnes and was disappointed that James wasn’t him. What James couldn’t tell Steve was that he was more Bucky than anyone really knew.

On the days that Bucky Barnes was more in the forefront, James found himself wanting to be around Steve. Instead of going over and talking to him or throwing an arm around his shoulders like he knew he used to do, he watched, unnoticed, from a safe distance.

“What are you doing, Rogers?” James couldn’t help but ask. Steve was doing something different; he was writing in a little book. James had never seen him do that before.

“Nothing important, James.” Steve closed the book with a quiet snick and looked over at him. “Do you want to play a game with me? You can choose what we play.”

But James declined. With an easy acceptance, Steve stood and went to the kitchen for a snack, slipping the little book and pen into his hoodie pocket.

*****

**_My mother was there, of course, but she had to work 2-3 jobs just to keep me healthy enough to stay alive. I loved her dearly and still do, but she wasn’t around all that much._ **

**_Bucky was there, too. We became friends when I was 13 and he, 14. But, while we were very close, there was always some girl. Girl crazy, some called it. Even at 14, Buck was chasing skirts. As soon as he caught sight of a girl that took his fancy, he was off._ **

“Hey, James,” Steve greeted from the recliner in their living room. He had that notebook open and a pen in hand again. “Are you interested in takeout for dinner? I was thinking Italian, but if you had something else in mind, we could do that instead.

“No.” James didn’t mean for his answer to come out as terse as it had sounded but, the last few hours, memories from before, from when he was Bucky had been beating insistently at his brain.

Steve said okay and went back to his notebook. James went to his room and closed and locked the door.

But he couldn’t forget the look on Steve’s face. James wondered what it meant.

*****

**_During the war, things were a little different. I looked different, for one. But everyone who wanted me didn’t actually want me. They wanted the body Dr. Erskine made or they wanted Captain America. Mostly, once they realized how bad I was at flirting, at talking to them, they left. Even the ones who tried to stick it out left after they finally realized that they weren’t standing in front of Captain America: confident, heroic, and everything American dreams were made of, but in front of me. _ **

**_It was like being a teenager again, always second best out of two. I was the skinny alley cat they had to tolerate if they or their friend wanted to bask in the presence of the ever handsome and charming James Buchanan Barnes. The main difference between the USO tour and trailing behind Bucky on those awful double dates was that, instead of coming in second to my best friend, I was playing second fiddle to a made up version of myself._ **

James woke from his nightmare with a jolt. He’d apparently fallen asleep without meaning to.

One look at the bedside clock told him that it was well past dinnertime. Shaking the dream off, he rolled out of bed. James quietly opened his door and listened. He heard nothing. So, satisfied, he silently made his way towards the kitchen.

He was almost there when he froze.

Steve was still in the recliner. He still had that little book in his lap but, now, it was closed. He stared out the window.

Forlorn. Something about Steve sitting alone in a room lit with nothing but dim moonlight, made him think of the word forlorn. But James didn’t go up to him. He didn’t let his presence be known. That was something the old Bucky would have done. James wasn’t Bucky. Regardless of his memories, he’d done too many bad things. He didn’t deserve to be Bucky.

Without a sound, he continued on to the kitchen.

In the dark room, it was easy to tell that the oven was on and keeping something warm. James stood there for a few minutes debating whether to open the fridge—causing the light to turn on—or open the oven—again, making the light come on—or just grabbing some fruit from the fruit bowl and hiding away in his room again.

Deciding that he’d eventually have to turn the oven off anyway, he pulled out the food. It was a takeout tin of baked ziti. He stared at it for a while. Objectively, he’d known what it was, of course. But until he’d seen it, until he’d smelled it, he hadn’t _known_. He hadn’t known that it used to be his—Bucky’s—favorite.

Now that he’d remembered… The memory of the taste filled his mouth and made it water. He _wanted_. But, at the same time, James’s brain told him that Steve was just trying to turn him back into the old Bucky Barnes. It wasn’t as if Steve was just being nice. James didn’t deserve nice.

Pushing his swirling thoughts aside, he grabbed a fork from the drawer and headed back to his room.

Steve was no longer in the living room. James hadn’t heard him get up and leave.

*****

**_My time with the Howling Commandos was, again, a little different, but not by much. I was still alone. I wasn’t one of them, I was their leader, the person who told them what to do. I wasn’t their friend. They respected me, sure, but I’m not sure they really knew me or that they even wanted to._ **

**_Bucky bridged the gap between them and me. Bucky was my friend but he was also a Howling Commando like they were. He was their friend. I was just their Captain. I was just Captain America._ **

James wandered aimlessly around the Tower, sometimes leaving it to wander aimlessly outside. He didn’t know what to do so he just walked. Eventually, he came across Steve sitting alone in the common room.

James didn’t let him know he was there. From a distance, he watched as Steve slowly, carefully wrote in his little book, occasionally pausing for a long while to think. After more than ten minutes, he sighed. Closing the book gently, he got up and left.

James stood there and wondered what Steve wrote about. He wondered what was in the little book.

*****

**_When I went down in the Valkyrie and woke up in the 21 st century, I became part of another team. But, even now, I am their leader, just like with the Commandos. _ **

**_Where is the common ground? Besides Thor, the oldest of the Avengers was born more than 50 years after me. I sometimes struggle with all the different aspects of modern technology and for them it’s almost as easy as breathing. _ **

**_But, against all odds, this small group of people became my family. Even with that, though, there is such a gulf between us. It’s hard finding things in common with a group so different. And everyone is secretive and private. I don’t have that option. In the years that I was frozen, my entire life became common knowledge. Everything about me, about my life, is out there for the whole world to read, regardless of whether it’s actually true or not._ **

**_One thing I’ve learned very well while both living and working with the Avengers is that it’s possible to be in a room full of people and still feel incredibly alone._ **

**_Every one of them has a person or people that they call their own. None of them are me._ **

**_Natasha has Clint and Clint, Natasha. Tony and Pepper have each other and their friends Happy and Rhodey. Thor has Jane, Darcy, and Erik. Bruce has Hulk and prefers science alone or with Tony to being around other people. Sam has his friends and his family._ **

**_Even so many years later, even in a group, I was still alone._ **

“James,” Steve called out from the front of the apartment. “I’m going for a run.”

James didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Today, he felt more like the old Bucky Barnes than James. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Steve know. James wasn’t the old Bucky. He wasn’t. So he didn’t reply.

Steve’s footsteps came closer. “Do you want to come with me?” he asked through the closed bedroom door.

James still didn’t answer.

“That’s alright,” Steve said understandingly into the silence. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that…that you’re welcome to join me anytime.” He stood there another minute, maybe giving Bucky—James—a chance to reply before he added, “Well, you know my route if you want to…” He trailed off. Then, after another moment, he quietly walked away.

No matter what, James couldn’t let him know.

*****

**_When I found out Bucky was alive, I was overjoyed. Not only was I happy that I had my best friend back, but that there was finally someone who was like me. There was someone else thrown into a different world, one filled with different people who spoke a different dialect and had different customs._ **

**_But he didn’t want to be around me. He actively ran away from me. I searched for him and eventually caught up with him._ **

**_He told me to leave him alone. He told me to stay away. So, with a bit of a broken heart, I did as asked._ **

Bucky—James—Bucky couldn’t stand it. The curiosity was killing him. It had been days. What was Steve always writing?

In all his memories—and at this point, Bucky thought he had most, if not all of them—Steve drew pictures, not wrote words.

Come to think of it, while Bucky had seen Steve writing a lot lately, he hadn’t seen him drawing even once. He hadn’t seen Steve draw since Bucky had moved in. He didn’t know if Steve even owned a drawing pad anymore. If he did, Bucky hadn’t seen it.

So what was Steve writing?

*****

**_Six months ago, Bucky showed up at the Tower. He asked to be called James._ **

**_We live together now, as we did back then, but it’s so very different. While I can see parts of him that are still innately Bucky, James seems more the Winter Soldier than Bucky Barnes. He hardly ever talks to me, barely even looks at me. We live together and see each other fairly often. But, honestly, I’m not really sure why._ **

**_As far as I can tell, James hates me._ **

Bucky waited until he knew Steve was out on a mission. He made himself hold off for a whole hour just in case the Avengers suddenly came back for something. But as soon as that hour was up, he was up and heading for Steve’s room.

Bucky was going to find out what was in that book.

He knew it was wrong of him. But he also knew that he didn’t care. Steve used to tell Bucky everything. They practically used to be joined at the hip. Thick as thieves, Ms. Sarah used to say. So why hadn’t Steve told him about the book? Why hadn’t he mentioned whatever he was writing in there?

A tiny, insidious part of his brain whispered that it was Bucky’s fault they didn’t ever talk, that Steve didn’t tell him things. It was Bucky who kept Steve at arm’s length. It was Bucky who refused to talk to him. It was Bucky who hid away all the time. It was Bucky who was ‘James’ to Steve. He’d made sure of that.

He searched Steve’s room, then his bathroom. He found nothing.

Where could Steve have hidden it? Surely he hadn’t taken it with him on a mission.

Bucky thought about it for hours. He couldn’t have missed it. He’d looked everywhere in Steve’s part of the apartment. Bucky was a trained spy and assassin. There was no way he’d overlooked a possible hiding place. But, eventually, he had to admit that he’d failed.

Slumping in the armchair by the window, he sulked. Sulking, sadly, was not an uncommon thing for him these days. He stared listlessly ahead.

It took him entirely too long to actually _see_ the bookcase in front of him. It took him even longer to look at the books on it.

Before he knew it, he was crouched in front of the bookshelf.

Off to the side, well away from eye level and nearly invisible mixed in among a random assortment of books was _the_ book, the little book Steve wrote in. Of course! Where else was a safer place to hide an innocuous little book than with a ton of other books that looked far more interesting?

Almost before his brain ordered his arm to move, Bucky had it off the shelf and in his hand. He stared down at it.

Was he really going to open it? Was he really going to read it?

Yes. Yes he was.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his. It didn’t matter that Steve hadn’t talked about it or showed it to him. It didn’t matter. Bucky _had_ to know.

He opened the book and started reading.

*****

**_I am surrounded by people._ **

**_But still very much alone._ **

When Steve came home, Bucky was still sitting in the recliner by the window. But the difference between when he’d first sat down and now was huge. Bucky felt…shattered. There were tear tracks still drying on his face. He gave off the occasional hiccup now, too.

He looked up when Steve entered the apartment, closing the door quietly. He watched as Steve hung up his shield and started unlatching the main buckle that secured the different pieces of his suit, then started undoing a couple of the hidden buttons up near the neck.

Steve suddenly stopped, seeming to feel Bucky’s gaze on him.

When he looked over, there was a split second of wariness that hurt Bucky’s heart before it was replaced with concern. That hurt, too. Even believing that Bucky hated him, Steve still instantly worried when he saw that Bucky was upset.

He watched the press of his lips like Steve was about to say his name but, instead, he only tentatively asked, “James?” He slowly walked over to where Bucky sat and knelt beside him. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch, to comfort. His hands clenched a moment before releasing and hanging down by his sides. “Did…did you have a bad dream? I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

Just how many more ways was Bucky’s heart going to hurt tonight? Even now, after everything, Steve still showed him kindness. He always did. He always had.

With his throat too tight for words, Bucky did the only thing he could think of. He slid from the chair to his knees and wrapped Steve up in his arms.

Steve’s whole body tensed up and that, Bucky thought, hurt most of all.

Tears began to fall again. He started to pull back, sure now that his touch was unwanted. But, before he could move more than an inch away, Steve coiled his arms tight around him, returning the hug.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky cried even as his body started to melt into the familiar touch.

“For what?” Steve asked. He sounded confused, but also like he’d forgive Bucky anything in that moment.

“I hurt you.” Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s neck, his tears falling to slide under the reinforced neck of his uniform. Steve just held him all the tighter.

“You didn’t know,” he said. “You’d been hurt, tortured and brainwashed. None of that was your fault.”

The Helicarrier. Steve thought Bucky was apologizing for the fight on the Helicarrier. Or maybe for the one on the bridge. Bucky shook his head no.

Steve drew back a little and looked Bucky straight in the eye. “They _hurt_ you. _None_ of that was your fault.”

Bucky slowly pulled out of Steve’s arms. Reluctantly reaching over to the recliner, Bucky pulled out the little notebook that had fallen between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair.

The moment Steve saw what Bucky held, he froze. A stormy look entered his eyes as they ticked back up to meet Bucky’s. There was hurt there, and anger. Betrayal, too. Steve sat back on his heels, looking like he needed distance from Bucky, withdrawing physically and mentally. It made him want to cry even more but Bucky matched the move.

“Jame—”

But Bucky interrupted before Steve could even finish his name. “I’m sorry! I know I’ve been awful to you and I know I don’t deserve to ask you for anything, but _please_.” His voice broke on the word. “Please don’t leave me!”

Steve’s brows drew down and he opened his mouth.

Desperate to plead his case, though, Bucky kept talking. “I know your life has been awful. And that I’ve been a big part of that, of making it that way. I hurt you. Before and after.” Tears started streaming down his face again. “But you can’t—” His breath hitched on little hiccup. “But you can’t leave me. I can’t do it. I can’t live in a world without you in it. I can’t— I can’t _live_ without you.”

Once more, Steve’s lips moved to form the name Bucky before he stopped himself. “James.”

“I’m not James!” Bucky almost shouted. “I’m not! I haven’t been! But I let you think that. I’m sorry. Just please don’t leave me.” He was begging. He knew it. But, like his tears, he couldn’t stop. What he’d read…

“J—Bucky!” Steve suddenly reached out and clasped Bucky’s face between both of his callused palms and gave a gentle little shake, as if to get him to focus. “Bucky, what are you talking about?”

“Abou—” He hiccupped again. “About your suicide note.”

Steve reacted as if he’d been punched hard in the gut. His whole body physically jolted. But he didn’t let go. “My… My what?”

Maybe if Bucky weren’t so distraught, he would think about the shock and horror that laced Steve’s voice but all he could think about was what he’d read. “Your suicide note. In your book. It was the only thing in there. Please… You can’t—” He would beg and plead and grovel and apologize. He would do whatever it took if it would keep Steve from… Bucky would set fire to the world if it meant that Steve would live.

Fresh tears fell as he thought about what might soon happen. He had to change his mind. Bucky didn’t want to live in a world without Steve Rogers in it. Bucky _couldn’t_ live in a world without him. Steve was his best friend. He was the only friend he’d ever had that had truly meant anything. He’d talked and joked around with others, once upon a time, but, at the end of the day, he’d always gone home to Steve. It had _always_ been Steve. No one else had ever measured up.

“You can’t, Steve. Please.”

At the sound of his name, Steve sucked in a breath and finally moved. He surged forward and dragged Bucky up into a tight hug. “It’s not what you think, Buck,” he said into his ear. “It’s not a suicide note. What you read was my diary. It’s just a diary. My therapist suggested I start one to help let go of thoughts tumbling around my head. I’ve been keeping one for years.”

Bucky planted his face against Steve’s neck again, unable to stop the flow of tears. What Steve said was wrong. It was wrong. There wasn’t— “There are no more. There’s only just the one.” He tried not to make it sound like an accusation but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.

“I burn them.”

That made everything inside Bucky still.

“I burn them when they’re full. No point in keeping them. They served their purpose and, if they’re gone, no one else can read them. It’s not as though I would forget what they said. Besides, it feels good, like a release, setting my words on fire.”

Without letting go, Bucky slowly leaned back to look up into Steve’s face, trying to decide if he was being truthful. Steve never used to lie to him but he also used to tell Bucky everything. But so many years had passed since then. Bucky was different now.

As if able to read Bucky’s thoughts, Steve said, “Jarvis, how many times have you seen me writing in a book like that one?” He indicated the hardcover notebook now on the floor beside them.

“Every day you were home since the first day you moved into my Tower. I do not know about before that or any of the times you were gone.” Steve opened his mouth but Jarvis beat him to it. “And when you are finished with each one, you destroy it in the bathroom where I can turn on the exhaust to avoid the smoke activating the fire suppression system.”

With each word Jarvis spoke, Bucky relaxed until he was practically boneless in Steve’s arms.

“It wasn’t…?”

“No, Buck. Those were just my thoughts. I was just feeling lonely.” He shrugged. Then, with a little grin, he said, “Last week I was angry because a taxi cut me off and almost clipped the front tire of my motorcycle.”

Tired of kneeling, Bucky sank down to sit on the ground. Since Steve was still holding him, it pulled him down, too. Bucky ended up sitting half between Steve’s legs and content to be there. “Was that before or after you were mad at me?”

Steve sighed and bent his head to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “We’ve really got to work on our communication. I wasn’t mad at you; I was pissed at the asshole taxi driver. _He_ was at fault and he flipped _me_ off!” Steve took a breath as if forcing himself to calm. After a moment, he said, “I don’t think I’ve been angry with you since you got here, Buck. Annoyed sometimes, yes, and frustrated, but not actually angry.

“I’m sorry I read your book,” Bucky finally mumbled. As horrified and anxious as he’d been after reading it, he’d also felt guilty. It wasn’t his, he hadn’t asked, and Steve hadn’t offered. He shouldn’t have disregarded Steve’s privacy so easily.

After a long silence, Steve asked, “Why did you?”

Bucky had to keep himself from shrugging. That was a cop-out. He knew why he’d done it, both what he’d told himself and the real, underlying reasons. He hunched his shoulders, partly in shame and partly with embarrassment.

Deep breath, he told himself. Then he bared his soul. “Because I wanted to. Because I wouldn’t talk to you or let you talk to me. Because it made me feel connected to you when I wouldn’t let you close any other time. Because I miss what we used to have and want what we could’ve eventually become. Because I wouldn’t let myself acknowledge how I felt. And then, once I started reading, because I couldn’t stop.”

Steve stayed silent for an eternity but Bucky made himself wait. He knew Steve wasn’t going anywhere; his arms hadn’t loosened around him one bit. Bucky had to give Steve time to think. Even reckless as he often was, Steve had always been a thinker.

“How do you feel?” he eventually asked.

He took one last step. “I feel like Bucky Barnes. And Bucky Barnes has always been in love with you.”

*****

From the kitchen, Natasha saw James—Bucky, he wanted to be called now, which, as someone who’d chosen her own name, Natasha could fully respect—slip into the common room from the elevator. It pulled her attention away from the sandwiches she was assembling because the elevator didn’t ding like it normally did. It was odd.

She watched as Bucky moved to the couch Steve sat on and just stood there. He’d moved like he was made of brittle glass that would shatter at even the slightest touch.

It filled her with concern.

Steve looked up from the crossword puzzle he did in pen. His eyebrows drew down as he examined Bucky. “Your head again?”

Bucky didn’t nod but his eyes desperately screamed yes.

Steve just held his arm out in silent invitation. Bucky immediately tucked himself tight into Steve’s left side, curling into a tense ball.

That was new. As far as Natasha had seen, in the six months Bucky had lived there, he tended to shy away from contact with everyone, but especially from Steve, even on _good_ days. Yet, now, on what was so obviously not a good day, he plastered his face against Steve’s neck and hid under his arm as if being beside Steve could save him. It looked natural, like they’d been doing it their whole lives.

After a moment, Steve shifted just enough to pull something out of his pocket. He was obviously trying not to jostle his friend.

Natasha squinted, trying to figure out what he held. It was a little thing, almost entirely engulfed by Steve’s large hand. She didn’t realize just what it was until Bucky tentatively took it and glanced up at Steve’s face, as if to make sure.

Steve had just handed over a little, black hardcover book. Then he went back to doing his crossword in pen.

After a moment, and with shaky hands, Bucky pulled at the little string attached to the binding and opened to the bookmarked page. Flipping back half a dozen pages, he began to read. When he finished those six pages, he read them again. And then again. Each time through, he relaxed a little bit more. By the fifth reading, Bucky looked to be about the consistency of a cooked noodle.

He quietly closed the book. Setting it in his lap, holding it almost reverently between his hands, Bucky shifted to press himself tighter against Steve’s side. His bent knees got in the way of Steve’s crossword book but Steve just picked it up and placed it on top of them. He went right back to solving his puzzle.

On a long exhale, Bucky closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

Finishing up making her sandwiches, Natasha headed for the elevator. It operated silently, as it had before. While she rode it to her rooms, she thought about the slight smile on Steve’s face as he’d finished his puzzle and flipped to the next one.

She was glad that Steve was happy. And she was glad that Bucky finally seemed to be finding his place here.

With the image of them tucked up together, she went to go find Clint. Taking a nap cuddled together sounded like just the thing.

*****

When Steve finished filling his diary, he and Bucky sat down on the floor of his bathroom right under the thing Tony called an exhaust fan but that normal people would call ‘extreme overkill.’ Steve grabbed the empty metal container he used especially for this from the cabinet under the sink.

He placed the book inside the trashcan opened to the worst entry the book contained. It was the one that contained Steve’s lowest, most hurtful thoughts. Those would be the first words to burn.

Watching him with something like awe in his eyes, Bucky handed Steve the pack of extra long match sticks. Steve struck one and just watched the flame as it slowly burned lower and lower.

When it reached about halfway, when he thought he was ready, Steve dropped it into the can. It took a bit but, in time, the pages caught fire. Steve watched the words disappear, first with the heat, and then from the flame.

Silently, Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s. Steve looked up and smiled.

When the book was gone, when it was nothing but smoldering ash, Steve pulled out the one he’d gotten to replace it. Pen in hand, he passed them to Bucky. “I thought we could share this one.”

Bucky looked at him wide-eyed and maybe a little hopeful.

With another smile that had Bucky smiling right back, Steve told him, “You should write the first entry.”

Slowly, Bucky took the offering. Leaning against his left shoulder, Steve watched him write.

**_I am happy. With Steve, I am so happy._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Daretodream66 who went above and beyond to help me with this. Thank you. You are amazing.
> 
> Disclaimer: If you ever plan on burning anything inside, I am not advising you to use your bathroom exhaust fan to try to get rid of the smoke. They are made to dispense moisture. This is a work of fiction, not real life. And Tony Stark is Tony Stark. I believe he would do most things to the extreme--such as putting an uber-exhaust fan that can handle a fire in a room designed to fill up with humidity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can thank RayssaRiddle for this. I hadn’t planned on writing any more. But then there was a comment. And now Bucky has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Make sure to check the chapter’s endnote for the Trigger Warnings.** This…hurts. I’m not going to lie. This hurts a lot. But I hope you like it. 
> 
> Also, I updated the tags. Please let me know if there's something I'm missing.

Bucky jolted awake with tears streaming down his face and his stomach roiling. He bolted for the bathroom, barely making it in time.

He emptied what little was left in his stomach then gagged on bile.

And the tears wouldn’t stop.

Everything was hopeless now. Everything worthwhile was gone. Bucky’s whole world was gone. Shattered. Because of him.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his fears, his own thoughts and pettiness, ruin what little good he’d had left in the world? How could he have never told him?

Fingers carded through his sweaty hair and he shuddered. The phantom feeling, the feeling of what _should_ have been, only making him feel worse.

And the tears _wouldn’t stop_.

His body rebelled one more time before he laid his head on his arm and closed his eyes.

He could still hear Steve’s voice if he listened. It was so easy to pretend. He didn’t even have to try. It was like Steve was _right there_. But he did his best to block it out. It was all too painful. Instead, Bucky just turned his face further into his arm draped over the toilet seat and let go. Violent sobs wracked his body.

And he could still hear that voice.

His dream—for it must’ve been a dream—had been lovely while it had lasted. But it hadn’t lasted. He’d woken up.

He wished the dream had been true. He wished he’d found the book in time. He wished he’d been able to stop the inevitable. He wished…for so many things.

He’d been so stupid. And his stupidity had destroyed his entire world.

He’d thought he couldn’t live without Steve but here he was. Even if he was at least halfway to insane, thinking he heard Steve’s voice in his ear, felt his touch on his skin, through his hair, Bucky was still alive. Against all odds.

But his heart broke every second because _Steve wasn’t_. He pressed his face harder into his elbow but did nothing to try to hold back the tears.

Arms wrapped tightly around him. One of the others must’ve come in, probably called by Jarvis. It must’ve been Jarvis’s voice he’d distantly heard, not Steve’s. Bucky would never get to hear Steve’s voice again. The only thing he had left were his memories—damaged, though they were—and some silent videos at the Smithsonian.

And the worst of it? Bucky had dreams of how it might’ve been had Steve lived.

But the cold reality of it was that Bucky was the reason Steve was gone. Bucky was the reason Steve had killed himself—Bucky and his inability to tell Steve the truth, to tell him that he was Bucky, not James, to tell him how he really felt.

And it hurt.

The arms around him tightened and shifted him to lean against them. But that only made things worse because now all Bucky could smell was Steve.

Why was this hell in his mind? Why did his brain want to trick him into believing Steve was still alive? It wasn’t fair. Live wasn’t fair. He knew it, had known it as soon as he was human enough to have thoughts again. Hell, he’d found that out back when he’d stayed by Steve’s bedside the first time he’d really gotten sick after they’d met as children.

But now Steve was dead and life wasn’t _life_ anymore. How could it be when your heart was gone? Was it even worth living now?

But of course it was. Steve had spent too long, worked too hard to save Bucky for Bucky to throw it all away.

His tears slowed even though he didn’t want them to. And he could still hear that voice. _Steve’s voice._ It made his heart hurt so much.

The words were even gentle. Bucky didn’t deserve gentleness after what he’d done, what he’d caused.

“Bucky. Bucky, open your eyes.”

And Bucky couldn’t _not_ listen. He couldn’t ignore that voice, even if it was no longer real. He pulled back from whoever was holding him and opened his eyes.

Steve stared back at him, his face full of desperate worry and love and so many other things.

It was like his brain broke. Bucky just didn’t understand.

“But…but you’re dead.” He couldn’t stop the heartbroken sob that the words came out as.

Steve’s eyes widened for a second before his face gentled and he said, “Oh, Bucky. I’m not. I’m not dead.”

“I k-killed you. B-because I made you—” he hiccupped “—t-think that I hated you. I killed you. I don’t—”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s right hand, his flesh hand, with both of his own and placed it against his cheek. “I’m right here. You didn’t kill me. I’m here, right in front of you. I’m alive.”

Against his palm, Bucky felt the light scruff on his jaw, the warmth of his skin, the hot tears that now slid down Steve’s face. Though his body rebelled at the idea—the thought of Steve not alive and well in the world pure anathema—his brain still whispered that it was all his fault.

“But…but your note.”

Steve closed his eyes for two seconds before shifting closer and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “That wasn’t a suicide note, sweetheart. Remember? That was my diary. Just my diary. Our diary, now, now that we started a new one. I’m not dead. I’m right here. We’re both right here.” He wrapped his arms around Bucky.

“No. I dreamed that. Because I wanted it to be true. But it’s not true. You’re not here and I’m crazy for thinking I’m talking to you.”

Steve pulled away, then, and it _hurt_. It felt like his heart had been squeezed until it was nothing. Covering his face with his hands, he bent at the waist to cry against the floor. Of course Steve wasn’t there. But Bucky wanted him to be. He wanted it so bad.

Fingers started carding through his hair again and again. It made shivers race up and down his spine.

“Sweetheart. Bucky. Please sit up? I have something to show you.”

It took immense effort, both mental and physical, to do as his brain asked in Steve’s voice.

When he looked up and still saw Steve, though, he started doubting. What was real? What was true?

He reached out to touch, a gentle poke of a finger against Steve’s chest. It was solid. He rested a hand against it, feeling a heart beat underneath. Steve felt real. But other things he’d thought real hadn’t been. HYDRA had excelled at putting ‘memories’ into his head as well as taking things out.

Maybe-Steve sat there in front of him on the floor, patiently waiting.

When Bucky looked up into his eyes—or where his brain told him Steve’s eyes would’ve been had he still been alive—he saw the love there. Bucky dropped his gaze.

But it landed on something in Steve’s hands. It was a small navy blue book, one very similar to the one Steve had written his note in. Bucky froze at the sight of it.

His eyes jumped back up when Steve held it out for him to take.

“Open it.” But Bucky…couldn’t. He was afraid the pages would be blank.

He was afraid they wouldn’t be.

When he didn’t reach out, Steve opened it himself and held it up.

Inside of it was not what he’d expected. It was not empty, but it also didn’t contain Steve’s suicide note. Inside was a mix of Steve’s handwriting and his own. Inside were words he’d thought he’d dreamed.

With trembling hands, he reached out to take the little book. He slowly flipped through pages, taking in the words, if not really the meanings. But the more he looked at, the more he read, the more his brain quieted. He got to the last written page, about two-thirds of the way through the book, and looked up. “Not dead? You’re…you’re real? Here?”

Steve’s eyes, shining with tears, held his own. “I’m still here. I’m a stubborn cuss and extremely difficult to kill. Life should know that well by now. They’ve certainly tried hard enough through the years.”

With that, Bucky carelessly dropped the little book on the floor and flung himself into Steve’s arms. Steve caught him and held him tight. “That’s right, beautiful. We’re both right here. We’re still here. Together.”

Bucky knew then that this was real. Beautiful was one thing he knew his brain would never think to have imaginary-Steve call him. Steve had never called him that before. He’d used handsome and gorgeous and a bunch of other words, but beautiful had never been one of them.

With the realization that Steve was alive, Bucky cried in relief. The bad was the dream and the good was real.

Steve just held him tight as he rocked them back and forth whispering words of love and devotion into Bucky’s ear. It made Bucky cry all the harder because he’d never believed he could have that. But he did. Steve had given him that.

Bucky had given Steve his heart a very long time ago. And Steve had gone and replaced it with his own.

*****

An hour later, Steve laid in bed cradling Bucky to him. He was exhausted but didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t. He was determined to keep watch. Maybe if he kept a close enough eye, he could stop any nightmares from happening.

Maybe it was a fool’s errand but he would do it anyway.

Waking up to Bucky bolting out of bed and getting sick had been scary. But it was nothing compared to the moment he’d realized Bucky thought he was dead, that he’d killed himself. That had been bone-shakingly terrifying.

That moment, that turning point in their relationship, when things had broken and reformed between them had been months ago. The idea that Bucky could forget all of that, everything that had happened since then, was beyond awful. It was even worse than when he’d brought the Valkyrie down. It brought out a fear so deep inside him that everything froze in terror. The idea that Bucky could forget everything that happened between them without HYDRA’s memory wipes…that was one of Steve’s deepest fears.

A part of him thanked whatever god, being, or force out there that would listen for the little book they kept on one of them almost constantly. When it wasn’t in his or Bucky’s pocket—usually while they slept—it was on their nightstand. Without it, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve convinced Bucky he wasn’t a dream or hallucination.

He was going to have to come up with a better way, though. There was no guarantee that the book would work every time. Or even more than just this once. And Steve couldn’t handle it if Bucky ever refused to believe he was real.

It was a horrible thought but maybe, if Bucky was willing, they could work on some kind of trigger for his brain. He hated that word but it was the only one he could think of that fit. If they could somehow plant a phrase—with verbal reinforcement or maybe hypnosis, not physically embed one in his brain—that would root deeply enough to help reinforce reality as _real_ and banish dreams from lingering…

But it was something to think about later. Right now, holding Bucky was more important. Right now, guarding him from any hurts he could won out.

With an exhausted sigh, Steve closed his eyes and held on.

*****

When daylight slowly dawned a few hours later, Steve was still awake. He’d kept silent watch but hadn’t noticed any nightmares or restless sleep. He only hoped that Bucky would be okay when he woke.

He did hope Bucky woke soon, though. His bladder was beginning to get angry at him for ignoring it. And his stomach was starting to kick up a fuss, too. But he wasn’t about to leave Bucky to wake up alone.

Ultimately, it was his stomach’s loud rumble that made Bucky stir. He slowly blinked his eyes open and stared. Then a hesitant hand was placed against Steve’s cheek. He sighed out a breath of relief and closed his eyes. “Alive. The bad was the dream. The good was real.”

And that about broke Steve’s heart. The fact that Bucky’s life had been so overwhelmingly full of bad that he expected a nightmare to be real over something good hurt now more than ever before.

Steve leaned close and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered into the silence. “ _So much_.”

His stomach rumbled again, ruining the moment—or ‘the feels’ as Clint had a habit of saying.

Steve tucked a lock hair behind Bucky’s ear and tilted his face up for a gentle kiss. “Now,” he said, trying to fill his voice with something lighthearted and happy. “You have two choices this morning. You can lie in bed while I go and make you breakfast.” He didn’t even get past the word ‘go’ before Bucky tensed up. “Or you can come with me to the kitchen and watch me make you breakfast.” Bucky relaxed.

“I am going to pamper you today like there’s no tomorrow. You’re going to have so much good in your life—today and every day I can manage—that you’ll yell at me for it. Consider it payback for all those years of taking care of my stubborn ass.”

Bucky’s smile was slow to come but very real. He scooted to close the scant inch of space between them. Stretching his neck up, he kissed Steve softly before whispering like a secret, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** TW for throwing up, crying, and repercussions of Steve committing suicide. (Don’t worry. It was all just a very bad dream.) Also TW for a split second where Bucky thought about killing himself because he thought Steve was dead. The idea is immediately dismissed, though. **
> 
> *****
> 
> So, this was actually really hard for me to write. The words flowed so well that I stayed up four hours past my bedtime getting it down and then, after waking up, I went right back to it and wrote some more. But it hurt so much to put it all down on paper, so to speak. The ending, though, was another kind of hard entirely. It was difficult getting out of the headspace of the previous sections to write an ending that wasn’t quite so awful.
> 
> I’m sorry for rubbing lemon juice in your paper cuts. I hope the ending was a kiss to make it better.
> 
> And, RayssaRiddle, I hope I did your idea justice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff to brighten everybody's day. 
> 
> This chapter is gifted to Daretodream66.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This needed a little something right here. Enjoy!

Bucky stood up from his spot at the table in front of the computer. He left the apartment with a purpose. He had a mission. And he would do his best to succeed.

It took him about ten minutes, remembering too late that he could’ve just asked Jarvis and saved himself the time and trouble, but he eventually found Steve sitting in the common room talking with Sam through the TV.

Out of long habit, he quietly made his way over. But he didn’t keep himself hidden. He had a mission. He stepped between Sam and Steve, uncaring that he was being rude. His mission was _important_!

“Bucky. What—” Steve began.

But Bucky didn’t let him get any further. He quickly grabbed Steve’s hand and hauled him to his feet. Then he began to drag him to the elevator.

“Uh…” Steve twisted to look behind him—maybe to look at Sam? But Bucky didn’t stop. Instead, impatient, he sped up.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later Sam!” Steve called as he was bodily dragged into the elevator and the doors closed.

While they waited, Steve watched Bucky. There wasn’t anything accusing in his gaze, just curiosity. But he held his tongue. Bucky was grateful.

When they stepped out on their floor, Bucky led Steve to the kitchen and pushed him to sit in front of the computer.

“It’s…” Steve began, his brows scrunching down as he looked confusedly at the screen. “It’s a blanket. Why am I looking at a blanket?”

“It’s a weighted blanket.” Truthfully, it was much more than that. It was sold by NASA and had one of the most recent pictures taken of outer space on it. It was one of the most beautiful things Bucky had ever seen. And he really, _really_ wanted it. “Can I have it?”

Steve shifted sideways on the chair to look at him, his face softening. “Bucky. You know you don’t have to ask me for permission, don’t you? You can buy something if you want it?”

“I—” For a second, he didn’t quite know what to say. But than his mouth opened. “I want it for the bed. To sleep under sometimes. But you sleep there, too. If you didn’t want it…”

Steve stood up then and wrapped him up in a tight, comforting hug. “Even if I didn’t want it, you could still get it. You don’t have to use it on the bed. You could see if they came in smaller sizes and wrap up in it on the couch while watching TV. Or in the recliner while reading a book. But, in this case,” he smiled against Bucky’s cheek, his light stubble scraping against Bucky’s. He gave Bucky a light, pecking kiss there. “In this case, I don’t mind a weighted blanket for the bed. I like it. It’s pretty.”

Bucky leaned back enough to look Steve in the eyes before hugging him tightly. Steve’s breath whooshed out and his smile grew into a grin. Bucky held tight for a seconds longer before loosening his arms.

“You know,” Steve said thoughtfully. “You could get two—one big enough for the bed and a smaller one you can carry around, something that you can easily bring to the living room or common room or the roof or wherever you want. And you could have more than one beautiful picture.”

Bucky’s head popped up from its spot on Steve’s shoulder. He hadn’t thought of that. He absolutely loved the idea.

With a smile and a quick peck on the lips, he grabbed Steve’s hand as he had before. “Help me pick out another?”

Love shone brightly in Steve’s eyes as they both sat down.

*****

After they completed their purchase of three weighted blankets from NASA—one for the bed, and one smaller one for each—Jarvis quietly bought a few more.

He was created to be helpful and weighted blankets seemed a very good idea. He ordered a bed-sized and a throw-blanket-sized blanket for each of the people under his purview. He searched for and chose what he believed would be the most likely preferred design for each person—including one covered in little barking hotdogs.

If Jarvis could smile, he would have.

He also made an anonymous donation to NASA. If they hadn’t had the idea to create such items with their captured images of outer space, then Jarvis’s people wouldn’t have this. 

And the money went to a good cause: the pursuit of science and knowledge. Mr. Stark would wholeheartedly approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The barking hotdogs came courtesy of [Daretodream66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daretodream66/pseuds/Daretodream66), from whom I willfully stole the idea. Apparently there were once some pajama pants that should've been bought. 
> 
> In recompense (for the thievery, not for the fact that you didn't buy the pants—yes I'm sad about that, too), this chapter is for you.
> 
> Also, for those of you who are wondering, I kind of, maybe, sort of really want an outer space weighted blanket made with the most recent NASA images. I don’t know if that’s a thing and I’m not willing to go look in case it is. I would find it extremely difficult to talk myself out of spending money that I shouldn’t be spending.


End file.
